


Demons

by shishiswordsman



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Nakamaship, Post-Marineford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4929259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shishiswordsman/pseuds/shishiswordsman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The events of the War of the Best have left their scars, but the crew does their best to heal them. A sorta happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

Some days are harder than others.

They always start out like any other; with him waking up tired and drowsy, unaffected by the hours of restless rest. The lines between reality and nightmare are still so blurry and so frightening that, for the longest time, he can't tell the difference.

The dreams linger with him, and they're horribly vivid and lifelike enough to freeze him in place, rendering him unable to think, to move, to breathe. He's confused and disoriented to the point where he is not sure about where death ends and life begins. Half of him is begging for the night-time horrors to leave him be, while the other half hopes they never will. At least in his dreams, they are reunited.

Reality catches up with him, like it has an ugly habit of doing, and routine takes over. He relaxes, forces his demons to step back if only for a second; banishes them with the familiar feeling of straw on skin, a memento that he is not fully convinced he deserves.

Not anymore.

_He wakes up with a start, gasping for air and searching for something that has been out of reach for a long time. His horrified cries awake them like clockwork, and it pains them to know he doesn't find respite from his demons even in sleep._

_Over time, they have trained themselves to not jump up at the sound, for they know it would be of little use to him. So they wait instead, silent and ready to run to him should he choose to need them. They await with bated breath and listen as he composes himself piece by piece, but never says a word or otherwise indicates that he has noticed their company.  
_

_But they know he does, and that is payment enough to keep them doing the same the next morning and the one after that._

He gets up, because he has to and he knows it's expected of him. The dreams, and the memories that accompany them drag him down and add an odd weight to his step, but he isn't going to give in. He tries to forget by faking a smile or a dozen and, for a moment, it's like nothing bad ever happened. For a moment, he feels whole.

But then there's a word -a whisper, really- and his walls crumble. He is never sure if the words are actually spoken or simply a figment of his imagination, but the effect they have on him is instantaneous and inevitable regardless of the source. The smile disappears from his features and mind alike as memories of blood and freckles flash in his eyes and entrap him. He always scolds himself later for shutting down; the idea of _more_ weakness seems like the worst fate possible.

He's tired of being weak. He has already been weak for one lifetime's worth and more, and he refuses to be a crybaby _-a weakling, a failure, a waste of space-_ anymore. It works relatively well, at least on the outside. A well placed grin here and a care-free snicker there are all it takes to create an illusion of glee, and are easy enough to produce. He is happy, but the smile never quite reaches his eyes.

 _He smiles at the smallest things, like he knows they are used to seeing him do. But the grin is so painfully, obviously forced that seeing_ this _smile breaks their collective hearts over and over again. He is always near but not present, engaged but distant. At times, his eyes wander to the ocean and linger, and they know he sees something in the azure depths that they don't._

_They can tell that he is merely pretending to be that same laughing boy he was two years ago, and a part of them resent him for it. Why won't he trust them enough to show weakness, allow himself to be vulnerable? Why won't he ask for their help, like they have asked for his on so many occasions?_

_It's a small part, and easily ignored, for they know he needs them like they need him,like they need each other._

_And that's all that matters._

It could be that they do notice, he imagines that it would be hard not to, but simply choose to let him hold on to the façade of jubilance and wholeness. It's more than he could ever ask for, he supposes, and he is grateful.

Perhaps it's selfish of him, cruel even, to hide his weakness from the people who rely on him and his strength. He is ashamed of not living up to their expectations, but he fears that if they knew of his faults, they might leave him.

After all this time and all they've been through, it seems ridiculous to even entertain the thought that they would suddenly choose not to follow him anymore, but he can't help but worry. He fears he is not worthy of their trust and their respect, but he is selfish. And he doesn't want to be alone.

_They still have a destination and a goal, none of that has changed. They do not think any less of him, nor do they see him any less fit to lead them. It's a constant struggle, but one they accept willingly, for they know they owe him that much and more._

_So they leave him to his false antics, even when it feels an awful lot like abandonment. There isn't anything they can do, really, and it's the most frustrating thing they know. They've failed him once before, and that one time was one time too many. They try not to show it, but sometimes the shame of their failure slips through and taints their actions with guilt and regret._

_If he notices, he returns the courtesy of discreetness._

It's been so long, and he feels a bit guilty for still dragging them back like this, still dwelling on the past when, for all intents and purposes, they should be moving forward. He should be leading them towards their dreams, not slowing them down with his own fears and limitations.

But he has adapted, knows how to hide his demons and put up a strong front. He has learned to use the memories as a shield, to wrap the overwhelming and borderline mind-consuming feelings of guilt and anger around himself like a safety blanket.

It lessens the pain, dulls it if only by a fraction; a form of false penance for a sin he _knows_ he will never be able to atone for. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that a part of his past refuses to leave him, and won't simply disappear from existence like so many others have before.

_It pains them to not tackle the problem head on, like he has taught them to. Like he has done for them time and time again. What they wouldn't give to transform his demons into something tangible, a being of flesh and blood they could cut and kick and maim. But the ghosts that haunt him are immaterial and trapped in his head with him as both their gatekeeper and prisoner, and there's nothing they can do to change that._

_All they can do is find and punish the people responsible for the demons ever being born to begin with, and be there for him when that day comes. In the meantime, they'll smile for him as well._

Even if he isn't completely sure he deserves their love, he appreciates their efforts nonetheless. And even if he doesn't realize it himself, they _are_ fixing him. It’s slow work, but a bit by bit and a piece by piece they are replenishing his smile with that same vitality it held two years ago, and replacing the memories of loss with new ones filled with laughter and joy.

He will never forget, nor does he want to. But gradually the pain that comes along with the blood and freckles lessens, and he starts to think of happier times more often. And when he sees himself running aimlessly with a pipe in his hand and them by his side, the smile he wears is fond and genuine.

Some days are harder than others.

On those days, when the horrors long past return to claim him and he struggles to stay in the present, they help him like he has helped them. They aren’t repaying a debt or doing him a favor, because his happiness is theirs as much as it is his. His smile is something to be treasured to them; a thing more valuable than the most accurate of maps or any title and fame the seas have to offer.

On those days, they endure, for they are still there and still _together_. His foes might be too formidable to face alone, but he has his friends, his family and _nakama_ to rely on. They might be broken, but they fix each other the best they can; ward off the demons together as a united front against the world determined to tear them apart.

Slowly but surely, his demons are vanquished.

And his smile returns.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! And a thousand thanks for LeafyxThiefy for proofreading this ^^


End file.
